The Big Grieving
The honesty of touch skin asks for,
peeling off the outer, unnessary layers,
wool, cotton, nylon, polyester
or smelly socks.
(skin, white as an almond
delicate, pure water)
She needs to say, I love you,
because, simply, on this floor
on this rough blanket, under
this floating duvet, she does.
He says, Sssh, when she has tears,
touches her eyes, but its good to weep;
bodies become so simple by removing
wool, cotton, nylon, polyester,
then the big grieving of the world
slips from them, down through
the floorboards, washed through
the drains of the earth.
© Anne Le Marquand Hartigan